


installation

by yandereraiden



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Bloodplay, Dacryphilia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Knifeplay, M/M, Snuff, male reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yandereraiden/pseuds/yandereraiden
Summary: “I was intending simply to have you become part of the piece, but… you’re missing something. It would be unacceptable to leave this work unfinished, but I can’t quite put my finger on what you need…”





	installation

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm really, really gay. mind the tags. there's nothing soft to be found here.

The morning before, you were nothing. And you were happy with it.

 

You weren’t a hero. You weren’t a soldier, you didn’t have magic, you weren’t some great inventor. You were just a guy- you helped run a small inn on the outside of a small town, and it wasn’t much but it was peaceful, and it was steady, and you were  _ happy with it. _

 

This morning, you’re a survivor.

 

You’re hiding in a wardrobe, teeth chattering, eyes wide, panic rooting you to the spot, praying to every god you can think of that  _ he _ doesn’t hear you, doesn’t double check to make sure he’s gotten everyone. You don’t even know who  _ he  _ is- just that you woke up to the sound of screaming and peeked outside of your room,  _ he  _ was there, long, slender rifle in hand, laughing hysterically as he blew through everyone else in the room with it, with shots to the shoulders, the knees. From what you could see, they were rarely killing blows, and he let those he’d shot lay on the floor, writhing in pain as they bled out helplessly.

 

With the crack of a gunshot, a body fell, face staring at you through the slight crack in the door. Your boss. The older woman who ran the inn, who you’d always considered to be like a second mother to you. Blood trickles down her face from her broken nose, and a boot presses down against her neck as he takes point-blank aim, right at her temple, and with another crack-

 

You’d closed your eyes then. Closed you eyes and turned around and hid as fast as you possibly could in the nearest available place, and waited, waited until the screams died down, crying silently.

 

Eventually, it went quiet. Even the slight moans of pain from those who hadn’t been killed, but had gone into shock or simply had been unable to react fully to what was going on died down. You’re left alone with your breathing and the soft sound of footsteps that reverberate like drums in the heavy silence of the inn.

 

“A  _ masterpiece.”  _ His voice is deep and distorted, but you can hear it as clear as day, carrying over the beating of your own heart. “As well as a job complete. Hm, they’ll appreciate that…”

 

You have no idea what he’s talking about, but you recognize the sound of walking (slightly uneven- is there something wrong with his legs?), and the sound of the squeaky inn door that you’d been trying to convince your boss to let you take a look at for weeks, now. The memory of what happened to her makes you bite back a loud sob, and you have to clasp your hands over your mouth to prevent any sound from getting out. 

 

But he’s leaving. He’s leaving, and you’re alive.

 

Another few minutes in the dark and silence before you feel safe enough to quietly creep out of the wardrobe. You push the door to your room open, taking care not to look at the body right outside of it- but there are bodies everywhere, and you can’t avoid them forever. What looks like the entire staff and patronage of the inn have been slaughtered gruesomely, and everywhere you look makes you retch and tear up. Whoever did this- he’s clearly put work into perfecting this kind of craft, where to put his shots to perfectly blow off half of a face, an entire leg, to punch a clean hole in someone’s chest, their stomach, their head. Whatever type of monster in human flesh had gunned down twenty-odd people and  _ enjoyed it… _

 

It makes you sick. You need to get out, need to get to the rest of the townspeople and tell them what had happened, warn them about the murderer walking amongst them. You head to the door as fast as your shaking legs will take you, push it open, and run straight into someone’s waiting arms.

 

At first, you’re relieved. Then he speaks.

 

_ “Did you enjoy the show?” _ It’s a sinuous, distorted whisper in your ear, and your blood freezes as you realize which arms have wrapped their way around your body. It’s a second too late, though, and his grip tightens around you, locking you in place. You’re strong, but his arms are iron, and he drags you back inside with ease, even with you kicking and screaming for help at the top of your lungs.

 

Like anyone would actually be able to save you.

 

You claw at the thick clothes he’s wearing, legs flailing in the hopes that you can catch something, anything to make him let go of you just for a moment, but it’s useless. He simply won’t be deterred, not until he throws you bodily against the bar, dazing and winding you all at once. You slump down against the wood, sliding on top of a pile of torn up bodies. Your pants are damp with blood in a second, black spots appearing in your vision as you almost black out.

 

Blacking out would be a mercy, however. And there’s no mercy here. Not as you look up, and see his face for the first time- or rather, his lack thereof, because it’s covered by an all-too familiar mask, one you’ve seen on wanted posters, in the occasional news bulletin that circulates through your town, weaving horrific stories about escaped criminals wandering the land unapprehended. His face is etched into almost every one of them- Khada Jhin.

 

His expression is unreadable behind it as he stares down at your pathetic, shaking body, and it isn’t until he chuckles softly that you realize he must be smiling.

 

“I always perform so much better when I know I have an audience,” he murmurs, crouching down until you’re face-to-mask. His one visible eye, amber and twinkling, stares at you with interest. “Even if they’re unappreciative.  _ Especially _ if they’re unappreciative. It makes me work harder to get a satisfactory response. You understand, don’t you?”

 

He brushes a tear off of your cheek, flicking it to the side.

 

“I was intending simply to have you become part of the piece, but… you’re missing something. It would be unacceptable to leave this work unfinished, but I can’t  _ quite _ put my finger on what you need…” He taps his chin, and you sob again.

 

“Please… I don’t know what you want, but I don’t have it. There’s money in a safe, if that’s what you’re after,” you beg. From what you know about Jhin, it’s unlikely to work, but it’s worth a try. Anything is worth a try, now, with the very real possibility of death looming over you. “I- I- I won’t tell anyone you were here. I’ll keep quiet about this- just- I- fuck-”

 

You’re babbling incoherently, but something you said caught his attention, if the way he leans back ever so slightly and tilts his head to the side is any indication.

 

“Hm. Now  _ there’s _ an idea…” You’re blubbering, but when he moves in close, too close, your panic is replaced by a bone-deep fear of the unknown. He’s looking at you curiously, and you’re frozen in place when he grabs one of your wrists and pins it to the wood counter behind you. “Maybe… that’s the last detail the performance needs.” Before you register it, he draws a knife from some hidden sheath and drives it between you radius and ulna bones, stabbing you  _ into _ the bar. You howl in pain, and he laughs, dark and malicious. “Just a touch of eroticism. A cheap thrill, if done with no rhyme nor reason, but with the right canvas- and you are such a  _ pretty _ canvas- it can add  _ passion.” _

 

Whatever the hell he means by that, you don’t know. All you can think about is the  _ knife in your arm, _ the fact that you can’t move, that your fingers are numb and twitching and he probably severed something very important and above all it fucking  _ hurts. _

 

“Please- no-” It hurts so much you almost don’t notice the second knife.

 

This one doesn’t go for any body part. This one goes for your clothes. With a few precise movements, Jhin strips you of them, cutting through cloth like it’s butter. He leaves a few cuts on you- tiny lacerations that sting slightly, which you would’ve noticed more acutely if it hadn’t been for your wrist, the sudden, burning shame of being naked, and the dreadful realization of what exactly he has planned for you.

 

“You’re a monster,” you cough out, fighting to keep your legs closed as he works his hands between your thighs, wrenching them out to your sides. When another knife drives into one of your ankles, into the cartilage between your bones and your heel, pinning your foot to the floor, you shout again.

 

_ “You _ have no appreciation for the arts,” he replies, smooth and succinct. “Now, where did I put that...”

 

He prepares you with what looks and smells like gun oil, with an almost reverent gentleness, a counterpoint to the coldness of the metal fingers probing you. It’s invasive, it’s horrifying, and he talks the entire way through it, cooing excitedly about how glad you should be about contributing to his work. You can’t respond, not really, except for noises of pain and occasionally surprised pleasure at the stimulation.

 

“I have not yet used violation as a theme,” he murmurs, voice metallic and cold, like a blade. Like the fingers stretching out your hole that you desperately want out of you. “But it’s always good to have new sources of inspiration. The look on your face- already so broken- it’s simply beautiful. How will you look when you lose all hope you still have?”

 

The last few words are a sinuous purr, and he strokes your disinterested cock, trying to get a reaction, though to no avail. Despite the reactive noises the movements of his clever fingers draw from you, you couldn’t be less turned on if you tried. His other hand is cold as well, and you flinch from the touch, twisting as far as you can without jiggling the knives.

 

“It will make for a fascinating finale. Or climax, if you will.” Snickering at his own joke, he pulls his fingers out of you, judging you adequately prepared. At least, adequately enough for him.

 

“Fuck you,” you mutter. You want to scream it in his face, but your throat is too sore.

 

“That  _ was _ the idea, darling.” He unbuttons his pants slowly, making sure you’re watching as he pulls his cock out. It’s slender, but long, and it’s still intimidating to think that it’s going inside you, regardless of whether you want it or not. You kick at him feebly again as he positions himself, but all it ends up doing is ripping the blade in your ankle through more of your muscle, and your sobs are hiccupping now. “By all means, struggle more. It’s too early for you to give up entirely.”

 

Jhin’s hands spread your hole wide, and he enters you in one long, smooth movement, burying himself all the way inside. As terrible as his fingers felt, this feels even worse- an unwelcome invasion, warm and giving rather than cold and unfamiliar. It’s more intimate. It’s a parody of intimacy. His hips press against yours, mask looking over your face as he starts to move in short, sharp thrusts.

 

“Have you ever done a thing like this before?” He asks, conversationally, like he’s not in the process of raping you. “Of course you have. Isn’t that the fantasy of every boorish man who comes into a place like this? To screw the pretty, airheaded tavern wench?” Jhin laughs, and you imagine his face must be twisting into a fey smile as he lifts your one still mobile leg over his shoulder, the new angle letting him get even deeper inside of you.

 

“No-” you try to argue, but the way he’s moving is actually managing to drag something out of you besides the pitiful whimpers that accompanied his version of foreplay. You moan, deep and breathless, and he pauses for just a second, as if surprised.

 

“Not a bad response,” he says, before resuming pistoning his hips into you. His one metallic hand digs into your calf, and his other one reaches beneath the folds of his clothing again, pulling out another terrifyingly sharp looking knife. “But I know you can give me something more  _ elegant.” _

 

With a deft movement, Jhin slices diagonally across your chest, cutting a thick red line from slightly below your left pectoral to your right collar bone. Despite having yelled yourself nearly mute already, it still makes you shriek. It feels like a brand, burningly hot deep into your flesh- a feeling that isn’t at all alleviated when he digs his fingers into the wound.

 

“Mmm, now  _ that’s _ more like it.” He moans softly, dragging his bloody fingers down your chest to your stomach, leaving red streaks wherever he touches before he reaches forwards and grabs your jaw, painting your jaw as well. 

 

Whatever he wanted out of this, he seems to be getting it, voice becoming more breathy and panting with every long, smooth thrust. He traces the knife down your sternum, moving it in a pattern that you can’t recognize. Not that it matters. Not that knowing what the hell he’s thinking right now would help you.

 

“We’re nearly there, darling. You aren’t going to disappoint me with your performance, are you?”

 

Your body is growing heavier with every moment, as you lose more blood, and your will to keep fighting. You’re still crying, your tears a silent prayer- _ just kill me, please, just fucking kill me already- _ one that goes unanswered as he marks you again and again with his knife and fingers, a line of tiny, red cuts adorning your chest and abdomen. Your shoulders slump back, body almost entirely limp except when he hurts you, and you jump and keen in pain.

 

When he slips two golden fingers into your mouth, letting you taste your own blood, thick and metallic, you don’t even resist.

 

“Yes,” he breathes. “That’s the despair I wanted to see.”

 

Jhin pulls out when he cums, mask making his moan terrifyingly distorted, spurts of white criss-crossing over the red already on your abdomen, and doesn’t bother to do anything for you. It might have been enough to get you hard if it weren’t for the blood loss, but there’s no way you could possibly keep an erection when it feels like you’d pass out if you stood up. If you could have stood up.

 

He pants softly as he tucks himself back into his pants and buttons them up, before standing, and pulling out the long, terrifying looking rifle that he’d murdered all the others with. He aims it at your head, staring down the barrel, and you don’t even flinch.  _ Get it over with. _

 

He pauses

 

“Well, I was planning on shooting you as well, but there’s something more...  _ poetic _ about simply leaving you here, letting you wallow for your last few pathetic minutes. Don’t you agree?” Jhin lowers the gun, stroking his chin. “There’s no way you can survive. I know which arteries I severed. But oh… it would be a  _ lovely _ touch if you tried.”

 

You don’t react to that either, and he seems to deflate a little, nudging your impaled foot with the tip of his boot. When that doesn’t get anything, he sighs.

 

“Not really much fun anymore, are you? No matter. Even if you can’t say anything, even if you can’t move…” He raises the rifle, resting its tip against your lips, long, golden finger resting against the trigger. “You still can offer this world some beauty.”

 

_ Click. _


End file.
